NEXT!!!!!

During the traumatic move to Florida as a teenager, I was tasked by my mother to take care of my youngest brother (8 at the time) during the 24 hour bus trip alone. My sister was already absent from the family. My eldest brother vanished from the home soon after my sister and he began working and living on his own soon after dropping out of high school. Neither of the two older siblings would make the journey to Florida for more than 20 years.

My middle brother traveled with our mother in the U-haul rented to move to Florida carrying the fraction of our belongings to the small, rudimentary dwelling in Florida. After a brief stay with my maternal grandparents, I found myself, my two little brothers and my mother living in a small mobile home in a strange, crude place – no friends – no plan – no air conditioning – lost and with no hope of anything changing soon.

Soon my mother began with her grumblings of her signature undercurrent of being over-burdened and a victim in life. As she had for many years – as far back as the sixties – she spent most of her in-home time in bed. Never engaging as a parent – which was not unusual for the last ten plus years. Soon I began to hear the phone calls with her complaints to my father and his new wife. My little brother was just a kid that needed parenting. Like any child, we needed a parent.

We never heard from our father. No calls. No letters. No visits. Nothing. Why now?

Soon after, my baby brother was next. The next sibling to vanish from my life – for whatever excuse she had – for whatever reason – with whatever justification she had- my closest one was now gone. Just gone. In the following years, my baby brother, once again, was subjected to abuse that is unspeakable – as we all had since young in ages. This, in my opinion, this was the ultimate cause of his early death at the age of 48 years young. I miss him deeply…

But that’s another story.

Somehow my middle brother met and hung with kids from the island – surfer kids. Dropped out of middle school and absent for most of the time before he “left”. It must’ve been a great outlet for him as a pre-teen. Having a pack to be with instead of the emptiness of the place where we slept with a parent who didn’t seem to give a damn if we were there or not. Soon he had been introduced to the adults of that genre – some surfers – some fishermen – some both. All potheads for sure. The man who was allowed to take my next sibling (because she “just can’t handle him”) owned a fishing boat. Leaving his name out would be wise. My mother gave my middle sibling to this person, to go off with this single, old man, on a boat, offshore, by himself, to be a deck hand (yes, the picture you have is correct) at 12 years old. In what world does that sound ok?

Her world.

So, I haven’t heard from or seen my two older siblings for years. My baby brother was gone. My middle sibling – literally – shipped off.

Yup…alone. Now, desperately seeking a pack.

Here’s where I tried to perfect my people pleasing skills which, at this point, I had been working on since I was about five years old. I had already learned to keep my mouth shut or I’d have no place to sleep. If I acted up a bit like my two little brothers, I’d for sure be next. I had certainly better “act as if” so I would belong…somewhere…anywhere. So, I tried to be as little trouble as possible (or not get caught anyway). I stayed at other people’s homes as much as I could before I overstayed my welcome – which was common for this emotional escape artist. I helped her at times mop the floors at night at the convenience store where she worked. Tried my teenager best to keep the house up. Got jobs here and there so I wouldn’t ask for any money. Still, somehow I knew I was next.

Desperately trying to create a family – or cling to one – that never existed…always…

I remember clearly the day I knew – truly knew to the core of my being – that I was “next”. May seem insignificant to others, but I knew. My carousing with people who were doing the wrong things had progressed. She knew it. Never a word or punishment. Just the turn of her back. No investment made, ever, into my tiny, broken little soul.

I was leaving with a young man, much older than me, and I literally told her what I was going to do that evening…(and it wasn’t shuffle board). I remember telling her so she would stop me. That would mean I matter. That would mean she cared. So she would tell me “No f__king way are you going out! Get your ass back in this house right now young lady! You’re grounded!” That’s how I thought it would go down. Right? Wouldn’t any parent…?! Wouldn’t they…?!

Nope.

When she looked at me with her all-too-familiar look of disgust – as she had frequently gave to all five of us at one time or another, more often than I care to recall – she clicked her tongue against her teeth, rolled her eyes, turned her head away, showed her back to me and flipped her flat palm upwards dismissing me into the night. I did not matter. She did not care. I left…

Immediately…I left…emotionally. Soon after, I left physically. Gone.

It was my turn.

Soon I met up with a school mate girlfriend and she was in a similar state. We, at 16 years young, had our own apartment – both with full time service-industry jobs and the freedom to party – all – the – time. And we did. The two of us were our own pack.

For the next few decades, I spent an astounding amount of energy trying to create a family that never existed. People Pleasing myself into dangerous and, at minimum, unhealthy situations and relationships that would only compound the scars I already lived with daily. Sacrificing myself, as I had learned, to be accepted into what ever pack would have me. ALWAYS at my expense. ALWAYS to my detriment. Humiliating myself over and over…just so I could have someone near me…just someone…anyone.

I craved for a family that never existed – a pack – my pack…

It wasn’t until I hit my bottom(s) – numerous – multi level – sometimes repetitive – that I began to crawl my way out of that self inflicted (albeit learned) emotional prison. I had to be rejected enough, hurt enough, lose enough, and truly feel the desperation of hopelessness enough, for me to become willing to work on the inner demons of my past.

Ya can’t live a life like I had and come out normal, ya know?!

It’s been a very slow journey. One with ups and downs. Triumphs and failures. Feelings ranging from elation to thoughts of suicide, over and over again, back and forth.

I am grateful for the before’s, the lessons of the past. Otherwise I wouldn’t know how great the after’s are and continue to be for me. I wouldn’t have a light to look toward if I didn’t acknowledge the truth in the darkness of my past.

Today, I know my value is great. I know my worth is innumerable. I know that the world will treat me exactly the way I tell it to treat me.

Next? My next is of my own making. I can be, do and have whatever “next” I desire.

Cuz I said so.